


Ezran Wolf-rider and the Starfield River

by lammermoorian



Series: The Lothaliad [1]
Category: Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Alien Mythology/Religion, Folklore, Gen, Inventing Mythology, Worldbuilding, weird Force stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2020-10-06 04:41:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20501051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lammermoorian/pseuds/lammermoorian
Summary: “It’s strange,” he finally murmured, after a time. “I haven’t thought about it in years, but, that--that tunnel, or whatever it was, it reminded me of this story my parents used to tell me.”After their harrowing escape from the Empire, Ezra tells Sabine an old Lothali folktale. Tag to 4x07, "Kindred"





	Ezran Wolf-rider and the Starfield River

Sabine found him sitting on the edge of the cliff hanging, legs dangling over the expanse below. “Thinking hard?” She asked, stopping well enough behind him, in case she accidentally jolted him out of a meditation and he swung his saber without checking who it was he was swinging at. Again. “Hardly thinking?” 

Ezra just waved at her with one hand, not even turning around to look at her. She stepped up and dropped down beside him, knocking his shoulder with hers. He merely grunted in response, seemingly transfixed on the view before him, the single setting sun already about halfway beneath the horizon. 

He’d been out here for a few hours already. Ryder had gotten a hold of Jai, and there wasn’t much in the way of setting up camp to do, so Ezra had just wandered off at some point, apparently sick and tired of sitting around the cave and looking at the paintings that made no sense. Truthfully, Sabine hadn’t even noticed that he had gone, not until Kanan had straightened up, looking around with sightless eyes until they, somehow, fixed on a figure that she could see through the cave opening, a figure kneeling at the edge of the cliff. 

“Good meditation?” She asked, after a minute or so.

“What, you’re interested in Jedi stuff again?” He shot back.

She snorted. “Please.” Sure, telekinesis was a neat trick, but she’d been damn ecstatic to hand over the Darksaber to Lady Bo-katan. “I’m jure here to make sure you haven’t meditated your last set of brain cells away.”

“Nah,” he drawled, “I still have a couple more to lose.”

“Good to know.”

In silence, they sat, watching the sun descend, and Sabine couldn’t help herself--more and more she found herself thinking back on the last four years, about how much she had changed. How much they had all changed. Something had disappeared on Mandalore, she realized, some heavy weight that had tied her down, beyond just the destruction of the Duchess. She felt whole, complete in a way she hadn’t for years. She’d thought she was so mature, the day Kanan brought her onto the _ Ghost _; she’d had nothing but her armor, her spray paints, and the conviction to color over her past, but now she understood that her past was too bright to be contained, or covered up. Moreover, her past was the perfect canvas, the best way to begin again. She was nineteen standard years old--nearly twenty--but she’d already lived enough for several lifetimes.

And Ezra--she’d never forget the day that she had to punch up instead of down. They had been running forms with Kanan’s sticks, his dinky little ‘training sabers,’ and like a bolt from the blue, she realized that Ezra was now the same height as her. Maybe even a little bit taller. And he still had more to go. This kid who wore his heart on his sleeve, who could executive flip after flip with a laser-sword but couldn’t handle a jetpack without crashing into the ground, he’d lost his parents and nearly lost his mentor, but he’d come out okay. He came out strong, even.

It was a sobering realization, that that lost little kid, the annoying, clingy, moronic, snot-nosed punk that she had come to see as another brother, a second chance, had actually, finally, grown up. 

“So,” she said, interrupting her own train of thought. “Have you figured out how we crossed the planet so quickly?”

“Not even a little.”

She hummed in response.

“It’s strange,” he finally murmured, after a time. “I haven’t thought about it in years, but, that--that tunnel, or whatever it was, it reminded me of this story my parents used to tell me.” 

“Oh?” She tilted her head. What she’d been able to glean from the cave paintings wasn’t much: people following the wolves, and patterns upon patterns decorating the inside of the mountains. The iconography was clear, the cultural meaning less so. And Ezra, for all of his maturity and growth, still never really talked about his past, or his parents, or his history. When she’d asked, years ago, what the circles of standing stones were used for, he just stared at her blankly before badly attempting to flirt with her. _ Why? You wanna go somewhere a little quieter? _ And he’d grinned, so smarmy and arrogant at the ripe old age of fifteen, and she’d huffed and rolled her eyes and gleefully shot him down. 

“Yeah. The story was about Ezran Wolf-rider.” At Sabine’s raised eyebrow, he chuckled, shrugging a shoulder. “Yes, they named me after him. He’s the hero from all of our old folktales. Many mothers ago!” He intoned, chest puffed out, one hand waving wildly at the waning sunset before them. “When the twin moons were new! Or whatever,” he deflated, grinning still. 

“Tell me,” she said, her boots scuffing the edge of the cliff as she turned towards him. On Mandalore, your history was engraved on your armor, hung in your halls, and passed down from generation to generation with all the accuracy and precision of a protocol droid. The fact that Ezra, apparently, didn’t know his own had, once upon a time, struck Sabine as profoundly sad.

He closed his eyes, and breathed in deep, his chest expanding. “Ezran was a prince,” he said, in a steady, soft voice, “of one of the major tribes. I think.” 

“You think?”

He opened one eye to stare at her, flatly. “It’s been a while, okay? I don’t remember exactly.”

She winced. “Sorry.” Right. He hadn’t heard this since he was seven. Maybe even earlier. Details could get lost after ten years or so, whether they were swallowed up by time or buried under Imperial propaganda.

“Kopru!” He blurted, snapping his fingers. “That’s it! He was the prince of the tribe of Kopru, and he was traveling the world!” His eyes so lit up like this, the joyful intensity in the set of his jaw and the upward curve of his mouth, it threw her back to a fifteen year old boy with shaggy hair and that same smile, proudly brandishing, for the first time, the bright blue blade of his lightsaber. “Back then,” he continued, hands gesturing at nothing, “before speeders, people usually rode on the back of pack animals to get from town to town, but Ezran, as a kid, he had tamed the great she-wolf Ismegeli, who became his companion and friend.”

“Hence the name,” she grinned, leaning forward, settling in for a story. She brought her legs up and crossed them under her, bracing her elbows on her knees.

He smiled back at her, crookedly, the scars on his cheek creasing upwards. “Hence the name. Back in those days, when you came of age, you had to undertake something called ‘the long journey.’ You left your home, took nothing but some food, the clothes on your back, and your mount, and you would have to travel as far as you could, helping everyone you met along the way, and only when you reached the mountains could you return, for there, the legends said, was the very edge of the world…” 

* * *

_Ezran Wolf-rider had been traveling for many days, when he came upon a ring of stones. “Could it be?” he asked his eternal companion, Ismegeli the she-wolf, “have we reached the end of the Great Grass Sea?” But it was not the fabled circle of stone, but a large village instead. As they rode into the village, they saw the people dressed in mourning clothes. The fathers wept, beat their breasts and howled, and the mothers danced solemnly around the grandest house in the village. At the threshold of the door knelt an elderly woman, deep in beseeching prayer. “Great Kuvet, breath of the wind, you who held aloft the sky, lift this curse from my daughter!”_

_ “Say, great mother,” said Ezran, “what curse has befallen your family?” _

_ “Oh, mighty Wolf-rider,” said she, for his name was known throughout the land, “had you come but a day sooner, we would have welcomed you to the village of Xane with feasting and with song; today, miserable day, we fast and we pray for the soul of my daughter, my youngest, who has been struck by a terrible affliction!” _

_ Ismegeli bowed her head in sympathy and sorrow, for she had been a mother too. “Great mother,” said Ezran, “your cries would have moved even the hardest of stones. If there is anything within my power to do, any cure that I may bring you, I will race to the furthest mountain and beyond to do so: you only need to ask!” _

_ “You are brave and noble, Wolf-rider,” said she, “but this task is not for those of us of dirt and stone. We have consulted the healers and the prophets and the oracles, and they all have said the same: to cure my daughter, she must drink from the source of the Starfield River.” Now he understood, for that place, as all Lothali knew, was the entrance to that realm from where none had ever returned--Olum Yeri, land of the dead, and the home of the great Wolf Kader--and could not be found by any mortal means. _

_ But Ezran was fearless and compassionate, and he was duty bound by the traditions of his tribe to help all those he could to the best of his ability, so he said to the woman and her village, “I am Ezran, Wolf-rider, prince of the tribe of Kopru; on the life of my mother and the honor of my people, I swear to you that I will see your daughter healed. I will travel to the Starfield River, and I will return with the healing waters--or I shall gladly die in the attempt.” _

_ Such an oath that had been made could not be unmade, and the fathers of the village wept anew, for surely this meant the end of the brave young prince who had journeyed so far. The old mother sighed so piteously, with many tears unshed, then she lifted her withered, trembling hand, and pointed to the horizon line. “There is only one way to find the Starfield River, the mouth of Olum Yeri. The oracles say that you must follow the threefold path there, where the sun sails and the moon walks, until you find the resting place of the star beneath the earth. But be warned, prince, for the Wolf Kader is powerful, and he guards the Starfield River most jealously. Take none for yourself, and he may yet let you pass.” Then she lifted her pendant from her own neck, and placed it around his. “Those who approach the maw of the underworld may lose themselves--take this, and remember your vow to us, so that we may call you back from the land of shadows.” _

_ With a whispered word to Ismegeli, the boy and the she-wolf set off for that fabled river. For nine nights and nine days, they raced towards the line of the horizon, following the path of the sailing sun, the walking moon, and her dancing brother, over hill and canyon and through the Great Grass Sea, until, on the morning of the tenth day, the terrible rise of the Daglar Mountains stopped them in their tracks. “Oh, Ismegeli,” cried Ezran, “I fear that we may go no further! The elders all say that none may pass the Daglars, for they have been made impassable. We have traveled the threefold path, have kept careful watch for the star beneath the earth, but I fear that there is nothing left to do.” _

_ Ismegeli lowered her nose to the ground, as if she were tracking a Loth-rat. Having found, supposedly, what she had been seeking, she padded up to the high rock wall, solid and impassable. But--there! In the shadow of the rock, Ezran saw, there was a gap, just wide enough for a Loth-cat to slide his way through. _

_ The she-wolf looked back at her boy, and Ezran nodded his assent, for though they could not speak each other’s languages, Ismegeli was wise beyond measure, and had seen many strange and wonderful sights. He had saved her life, and in turn, she had saved his many times. He would trust her to the very end of the world, and she him. If she wished to travel the Daglars, or over the edge of the world, into the stars, he would follow her, and he would have faith. _

_ Before his very eyes, the crack widened, a hole in the wall. It split, it grew, it encompassed and surrounded them, and from very far away, there was a light, as soft and blue as the moon’s own brother, and it beckoned them forward. Ismegeli walked on through the tunnel, unafraid, and Ezran held tight to her fur. _

_ They walked for hours, or for months, or perhaps only for minutes. Even as the cave walls surrounded them, the light of the moon’s brother was bright and beautiful, swirling and twisting and dancing like lovers at the Festivals of Hasat. Beneath them, as Ezran looked over her shoulder, the earth rippled as though it were water, pinpricks of light shimmering forth from the blackness. _

_ They had found the Starfield River. _

_ After some time, during which Ezran found he neither hungered, nor thirsted, nor needed rest, they came to a mighty tree, whose three branches lifted to the sky that must have existed beyond the walls of the cave, though Ezran was no longer certain there was a world beyond the Starfield River. Voices of spirits called out to him, in words he could not understand, and he thought he should shut his ears against them, though he did not know why. In truth, he could not remember the name of his mother, nor the face of his father, nor the reason for his coming here. _

_ The wise Ismegeli bade her rider to dismount, leading him to the mouth of the Starfield River, but he would not move. She set him down upon its shore, pulling the water skin from her saddlebag and placing it in his open hands, but he would not move. The pendant hung heavy around his neck, and he found himself drawn to the water, the water that promised peace and rest, freedom from his burdens and his troubles. He lowered his head, further, and further, and cupped the water in his hands, bringing it to his mouth to drink--but joy! He would not taste the waters today, for Ismegeli, wise and cunning, gently bit her rider’s hand, and the blood and the pain returned him to himself. “Once again have you saved my life, Ismegeli, best and greatest of the Loth-wolves, and once again am I in your eternal debt.” Having given thanks to his companion thus, he filled his skin with the Starfield water, then climbed again upon her back. “Let us now return to the village of Xane, and fulfill the promise made.” _

_ As she had led him in, Ismegeli led him out of the cave, moonlight and starlit water falling away to sunlight and solid earth, and as they emerged from the crack in the mountain, Ezran thought he had never smelled something as sweet as the golden grasslands. _

_ Again on the threefold path they ran, only stopping to rest when absolutely necessary, through the Great Grass Sea, when suddenly appeared a dark, ominous shape in the valley before them, though Ezran did not need to see it up close to know who it was. He had hoped to outrun the cruel Wolf Kader before he realized that the Starfield waters had been drawn, but though Ismegeli was the swiftest of her kind, she could not outrun him. _

_ Drawing his mighty bow, for there was no better hunter in the tribe of Kopru, Ezran leapt off of the back of Ismegeli, and bade her to run. “Though the Wolf Kader may strike me down today, I charge you, dearest companion, wisest and cleverest of creatures, to fulfill my promise, and to bring the waters of the Starfield River to the girl and her mother.” Ismegeli lingered for just a heartbeat, for though they were of different races, she loved her boy as if he were her own, and he loved her just the same. Then with a growl, she turned and ran, swifter than wind and faster than thought, faster than any of the Wolf Kader’s soldiers. Ezran was, finally, alone. _

_ The battle raged on for days. The Wolf Kader had many soldiers, but they were slow, and stupid, and Ezran fended off each and every one, for his mother’s bow was sturdy, and his father’s dagger was true, but even the best warrior cannot last forever. Empty and exhausted, Ezran fell to his knees before the Wolf Kader, and looked into those yellow eyes, and felt neither fear nor pain nor sorrow. He had done all that he could. When he died, Ismegeli would return for his body, and would bring him home in triumph. The mother in the village of Xane would go with her, and tell stories of Ezran the kind, the brave, the noble, and the tribe of Kopru would bury him with all due honors. _

_ But just as the Wolf Kader opened his jaws, teeth as sharp as the mountaintops, Ezran heard a loud, clear horn. Over the crest of the hill, there was Ismegeli, with the great mother beside her, and the men and women of Xane on either side. On a signal unseen, they charged as one, as fierce and powerful as the great western wind, and the Wolf Kader could not stand against such a force. Snarling and hissing in defeat, he turned tail and ran towards the Daglar Mountains, to rest and to plan his revenge, for Ezran had made an eternal enemy on that day. _

_ “Oh, great mother!” Cried Ezran. “I thank you for coming to my aid. I have traveled the Great Grass Sea, I have walked the Starfield River, and I have sent my companion on to deliver what I have promised, and now I beseech you: what of your daughter?” _

_ “Oh, Wolf-rider,” said the mother, “you have done as we have asked, and for that, we will praise your name, and make sacrifices in your honor. Your deeds will never be forgotten, and your name will be carved upon our mountain stone, but alas, though your wolf did arrive with the Starfield waters, she was too late. My daughter died a mere three days before.” Upon hearing this, Ezran pressed his forehead to the earth, and lamented his poor fortune. Had he been faster, surer, had he taken a different road, maybe he could have saved the girl from Xane. “Yes, it was too late for my dearest Imedi, but that does not diminish the strength of your heart, nor the force of your will. Ezran, prince of the tribe of Kopru, cast aside your sorrows and tears, for you have brought all honor and glory to your tribe." _

* * *

“...The mother of the village of Xane bade him to keep the waters of the Starfield River, for they had mysterious powers, and she was a very wise woman, and the one who undertook the long journey may yet have need of it.” Ezra fell silent, his hands coming down to rest on the edge of the rock.

Sabine, enraptured, tried her hardest not to breathe. “And then what?” she finally asked, after a long, long silence.

“That’s the end,” said Ezra, gaze resolutely trained on the twilight horizon. "Ezran crossed the Daglars and had many more adventures, until eventually he found the end of the world.” He smiled, maybe, mouth twisting almost upward. “My mom used to tell me that story every night. I can’t believe I forgot.”

“That was wonderful,” she said. “Thank you.”

Ezra shrugged. “Every kid on Lothal grows up hearing about Ezran Wolf-rider and Ismegeli. It’s been a while, but I guess some things stick deeper than you think, huh?”

“Ezran,” said Sabine, thoughtfully. “Your name. It suits you. I think your parents had the right idea.”

He turned to her, and Sabine was shocked to see his eyes glistening in the dim light. “You think so?”

She smiled, slinging one arm around his shoulder, bringing him in for the hug that he so desperately wanted but was still too afraid to ask for from anyone except Kanan. “I know so.”

They sat there as twilight turned to night, and the twin moons climbed above the mountains, and the sweet smell of the golden grass found them even all the way up here.

**Author's Note:**

> I ground this out in like 4 hours, so that's why it's short and not edited. I may go back and edit at some point.
> 
> This fic took a lot of inspiration from Fialleril's wonderful story "How Ekkreth Escaped Slavery," which you can read [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3510809). Go read it!
> 
> Tweaked on 9/5 bc I changed up some of the mythology behind the scenes.


End file.
